


Loving you was like going to war

by Builder



Series: Missing Moments [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Rewritten Scene, Steve Rogers Has Issues, White Wolf - Freeform, missing moment, not bad for the end of the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 02:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.--Warsan Shire_____Steve’s trying not to be disappointed.  Of course Bucky isn’t comfortable.  In the years since the war, they’ve basically met twice.  Fought twice.  And now they barely have time to get reacquainted before they’re about to fight again.  At least they’re on the same side now.





	Loving you was like going to war

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from tumblr. Find me @builder051

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches, and Steve can’t stop himself from moving forward and opening his arms wide.  “How you been?”

Bucky steps into the embrace.  “Not bad,” he murmurs.  “For the end of the world.”

Steve laughs and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky chuckles too.  It’s been three quarters of a century since Steve’s heard that sound.  It’s almost exactly as he remembers it.  Almost.

Bucky stiffens.  But he doesn’t move away.  There’s no hostile twitch in his arm— the flesh one or the shiny new Wakandan metal one.  But he’s not as comfortable as he’s trying to be.

Steve’s trying not to be disappointed.  Of course Bucky isn’t comfortable.  In the years since the war, they’ve basically met twice.  Fought twice.  And now they barely have time to get reacquainted before they’re about to fight again.  At least they’re on the same side now.  It feels good to have Bucky back as a member of the team.

 _An asset to the team_ , Steve thinks.  Then his heart sinks to his stomach as the connotations of the word hit. Even if things are better now, a step back toward the baseline of normal where  _asset_  means something nice and not something deadly, there’s no erasing the deep void between them.  A void as deep as a canyon, cold as the wind whipping past an open train car…

“You doing ok, Buck?” Steve asks in a whisper.  “Really?”

“Mm.”  Bucky shrugs.  He leans back in Steve’s arms, putting distance between their faces without breaking the contact.  He holds his own grip around Steve’s waist.  He cocks his head and blinks slowly as if drinking in Steve’s expression.  “You ok?”

It’s not the answer Steve’s expecting.  He isn’t sure what he wants Bucky to say, or what he thinks he should say.  There’s no precedent for this.  No way for him to measure Bucky’s progress except to juxtapose it against his own.  It’s been seven years since he re-entered the world, and Steve’s still trying to make sense of it.

Steve shakes his head.  He needs to stop thinking and be present in the moment.  The more he lets his mind wander, the more he’s missing the tiny movements of Bucky’s face.  The waver of his lip.  The furrow forming between his eyes.

Then Steve remembers the question.

He stops mid-shake and opens his mouth, but the contradiction doesn’t come.  He can’t lie.  Not now.  Steve takes a breath.  “How could I be, Buck?”

Steve toys with adding  _without you_ , but it’s too much.  There’s no need to divest the moment of its raw truth and force it into cinematic melodrama.  Because that’s never been what their relationship was.  There was never a perfectly timed kiss at a train station or out in a rainstorm, and not just because of the laws back then. Underneath it all, they were just plain men.  And they still are.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes.  He lets his metal arm fall to his side and moves so he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve.  They still cling to each other as they slowly move toward the shadow of a building, the change in light giving the impression of privacy.  

“I’m not…” he finally says, trailing off with a sigh that seems to hold the entire world in its emptiness.  Steve can practically count the countries, the missions, the half-remembered moments.  “You know?”  There’s a hint of desperation in Bucky’s tone.  Steve barely picks up on the familiarity of it.  He wonders how long it’s been there.

“Yeah,” Steve says automatically.  And he does know.  At least the gist of it.  Bucky’s faced ten times the challenges he has.  Despite the time he’s spent in the sun, he’s still a little pasty, his eyes still a little sunken.  He still looks sick and nervous, and it makes Steve’s heart ache.  He wants to take away all Bucky’s hurt and ball it up and throw it as far away from him as he can.  He wants to destroy what’s destroying Bucky, what’s still slowly eating away at him behind his wavering smile.

Bucky’s trying to be happy.  He’s stealing Steve away for one carefree moment, easing toward his brazen and heartfelt teenage self.  Steve should let him.  Steve should do the same.

He is carefree, if he really thinks about it.  If the world ends, at least Steve will die with Bucky this time.  If they manage to save it, they’ll do it together.  If Bucky gets better eventually, they’ll have their eternity.  And if he doesn’t, Steve doesn’t mind.  He’ll love him scared and stoic just as much as he did all those years ago.

But there he goes with the thinking again, the permutations of futures that may or may not exist.  Ignoring this moment, the only thing Steve knows is real.

“Hey,” Steve breathes.  He moves his and from Bucky’s waist and carefully tucks his hair back.  It’s still long, and full-bodied with the humidity.  Steve traces the shell of Bucky’s ear before bringing his palm to rest against his shoulder.  “It’s ok.  To struggle.”

“I know.”  Bucky bites his lip.  It’s the tough-guy persona he put on when they were kids.  But it’s also the frustrating blankness that Steve knows is learned behavior, a defense mechanism from things he hopes he never hears about.

“I’m serious,” Steve says.  He says it with his voice, and with his eyebrows, and with the tips of fingers biting into the crisp blue fabric of Bucky’s uniform.

“I  _know_.”  It’s less kind this time.  It holds annoyance.  A shower in cold water without soap.  A lover using all the clean coffee cups for paintbrushes.  A war in Europe breaking apart their little postage stamp of happiness in Brooklyn.  A gun pointed at a shield over the edge of a highway overpass.

Steve holds his breath.  Bucky does too.  Then he starts to sob.

“God.  Fuck.”  Bucky pulls his hand away from Steve and pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing up his eyes against the flow of tears.

“Bucky.”  Steve reaches for him, trying to tell him in the timbre of one word that it’s fine, nothing’s changed.  Not in a moment.  Not in a century.

Bucky’s stiff in Steve’s arms again.  But he lets his chin hover over Steve’s shoulder, his trembling ribcage vibrate against Steve’s chest, his breath hitch and shift the breeze in Steve’s ear.  He lets Steve hold him.  And he doesn’t pull away.


End file.
